The Problem with Life
by Trailing Ashes
Summary: An entire take of House as a snarky teenager; his little neighbor Jimmy Wilson and the life and abuses they both have to go through every day. It's hard being a kid in a world that's controlled by your father. And harder too, to get out...
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Problem with Life: A House Biography

**Summary:** An entire take and adventure of House as a snarky teenager; his little neighbor Jimmy Wilson and the life and abuses they have to go through every day. It's hard being a kid in a world that's controlled by your father. And harder too, to get out. House/Wilson -- maybe friendship maybe more. A hint of Huddy. And of course, a look into the snark ass kid that made House who he is.

**Authors Notes**: Shit. I know I'm a bastard for starting so many stories all at once. But in my defense I'm having some kind of writers finale and can't help what muses may pop into my brain going from one story to another. On the bright side I'm still writing all the stories and have a good deal of chapters ahead of me...! Hooray! On the downside wow hey this isn't about Chase.

Anwyays. I tried to keep to everything exact to the series. Not just the exact age differences, but about time references, flashbacks and mentioning of Wilson and House's childhood throughout our favorite television series. I do my best on research whatever the fic, and hope this comes up to par. According to my research (mostly wikipedia) I've calculated House and Wilson to be eight or nine years apart. Which is actually pretty darn cool. Teenage House, kid Wilson, and a short guest appearance of Cuddy as well. Hope you enjoy. :)

* * *

I was outside playing ball with one glove and one fence. Hitting the thing at it over and over just to get it flying back into my hand. My dad was thankfully away, my mom cooking and calling from the window, her voice so sing song it could break your heart.

My head hurt. I knew the reason why and all I could do was think and pray for the next piece of something I could figure out and solve, a mystery within a mystery that was music. For now, a guitar playing it off in a string of rhythm and notes. I usually spent hours at the music store down the block, up until my dad would come home and beat the shit out of me.

Thump, catch, throw. Thump, catch, throw. Thump, catch.

I'd have to think of some more creative way to focus on the rest of the world. Maybe something that didn't involve an old baseball and the mitt attached to said cliche'. Maybe if I went into the garage I could pick out that bike dad got for me and ride it down the street a few hundred times.

Maybe while I'm at it I can put a bullet in my head. That'd be nice, but then again the only thing I could see coming from that is a wall covered in blood and my dad turning against the one person that didn't deserve all of that in the world. That and defile my corpse while croaking over his ruined musket collection.

Harder more deliberate thump, catch--and throw.

The fence standing as sturdy as ever; now marked up with rows of wonderful looking chips in the fading paint. I could've done this for the rest of the day; being tied to the tree at my side didn't give me a lot of options. I think if I just kept focusing with every toss I'd be able to figure out any puzzle in the world. You want to know why Einstein created the atomic bomb? Sure thing, just let me think it over for a bit. Want to know which teachers are having affairs? Which students are really being abused? Which of my life isn't a hectic storm of observations, closed off questions and constant, continuing cycles of me ending up right back here over and over and over again?

That last part I can't quite get into just yet. Or figure out. Or want to figure out. All I can think of is that I can't control that temper of mine and a part of me, ever defiant and stubborn doesn't want to. I like that part of me that bites back at every retort, gets me landed in situations just like this one. Sitting in the backyard for over a night and now half a day with my waist and arm tied to a tree with a pair of bruised ribs and a pounding head for all my troubles. It just goes to make me realize how much I'm not like my dad. A shining constant reminder of who I would never be.

Thump, catch, throw. Thump, catch---

"Hey...."

I glance upward from my situated position on the grass. Frowning as a voice pipes up from the other side of the giant fading white fence.

".....What."

A kid? I knew a family moved into the house next door, sure. Very unlike me to ever miss that sort of thing, not that I particularly cared. All it meant was that there'd be less barbeque's and less Mexicans staying up and blasting their music into the night while I got to sit here. My dad was apart of the military you understand; always saying they "had training far worse than this, and you should be goddamn grateful you get any at all--!!"

But here and now all I can do is sit here and think of all the other kids in the world who are just as blessed and "lucky". Frowning and giving the fence another thump, catch and throw.

"What are you doing...?"

I can't even imagine what this kid is doing outside here listening to me for, but I keep up with the rhythm, not missing a beat.

"Building a rocket ship. What are you doing."

"My mom says that you're that boy who got expelled from high school."

I make a face. He sure doesn't beat around the bush--as if I could only be so lucky. It's one of these kids.

"Yea, I bet your mom has a lot of things to say about a lot of people. She's that woman who keeps looking over the fence in our front yard and calling the police at ungodly hours. What are you, eight?"

"No. I'm nine."

I think this kid is giving me a worse headache than before. Hitting the round baseball a little harder, trying to predict just how long it'll take for him to go back crying into his house and never bother me again. I'm counting on sixty seconds, but I'll settle for one-twenty.

"Great. Nine. I can see why you'd be out here instead of out playing baseball or catch with your overly nonexistant dad. But maybe your mom can teach you." The silence that followed only tended to encourage my ultimate goal of the last five minutes, pushing it a little further in words I can only hope will get through to a moron nine year old kid. "Then again she's never home either unless it's off looking at mailmen and spying on her neighbors, right?"

"I...don't think so...She's. Really smart. She's a nurse."

"A nurse, huh."

"Yea...and my dad isn't _nonexistant_....just. Um..." He seems to lose whatever motive of words he has to talking with me. Good. But still, I'm berating myself for not going a little harder as this doesn't qualify as anywhere near breaking the kid and having him run off crying. I roll my eyes, counting it as a small victory at least. Hitting the fence, catching, throwing. Hitting the fence, catching, throwing. Hitting the fence---

Missing. Shit.

Shit, goddamn fuck--all the worst words I can possible think in the span of two seconds as my hand slips and the ball misses by a mile. I look behind me and curse out loud, struggling to stand up.

"Fuck---." Watching as the goddamn thing rolls maybe two feet out of my reach. Growling under my breath and struggling with the ropes without a lot of success. That ball was pretty much the only thing I had to distract my onslaught of absolute boredom and misery and it's just like me to let it go flying after a while.

Sighing, I find myself slumping back to the ground. The ropes not exactly letting me do much on maneuvering anyways. No way I'd get that thing back any time soon now. Great.

"....You okay?"

I grimace. What is that kid even still doing here, I can't imagine.

"I thought you left."

"Uh...no. Um. You okay?"

"No. I'm not."

"....Well. Is there...anything I can do?"

"Yea, you can get me another baseball."

Why won't this kid just go away. I felt like I'd have to double my efforts, at the very best he seemed like one of those little punks that got beaten up in the playground and at worst the kind of mommy boys that barely left home and lived in a perfect flippin' home with values and white fences and those cutesy little dogs that were so loyal it made you want to barf. God please don't be the second.

"I have a softball."

Rubbing my face with my only free hand, trying to sound at least not as frustrated as I was. For the kid's sake maybe as well as mine. After all kicking his ass was probably not going to happen from this point where I sat or with the current situation. And as much as I hated those puke godawful perfect families, the best thing for me was to stay away from it all.

"That's. _Brilliant_. But the names are the areas in which they differ. Throwing a softball makes it a lot less likely for it to come bouncing back."

Explaining this feels just as painful as I thought it would. Maybe I can just talk it out with the kid and convince him to bring me some brownies from his house and toss them over in a plastic bag.

Actually, food sounds really good right about now.

And you know so do brownies. And an actual bed, that'd be a nice thing on my little wish list. Ah well, you win some you lose some, you manipulate nine year old kids until they share their lunch money with you.

"You know what you _can_ do though, little Tommy?"

"My name's Jimmy..."

"Yea, Timmy, whatever. You can bring me out something to eat. You know, snack time and all that. Close to nap time just...with a lot more food."

"Uh--I'm in sixth grade."

"What. I thought you said you were nine."

"I am..."

I shake that last little part off with a dismissing thought, continuing on with my previous train of thought.

"Right. Well. Think you can get me some dinner, Jim?"

"Sure. But it's Jimmy.... What's your name?"

"Hm. Greg. Greggory House. I thought your mom would've told you that by now."

"Well. She was going to come over to your house and...drop off some cookies. For...your family."

Oh dear lord. Just have to hold in there a little longer and get this kid to do his little thing, eat something before dad gets back and have a great day tomorrow when I get to start my new school. That's all. All I have to do. Just focus. ....Okay.

"Uhuh...yea. That sounds wonderful. How about you go get those cookies _now_."

If I listen for a second I can hear his little feet trundle on off through the grass. Sighing a breath of both exhausted frustration and wondering how that little energetic spitfuck even got to talking with me to begin with. If he'd heard right from his mom obviously he was curious which should mean I'd be able to break that curiosity with some well timed insults. If that didn't work out there was always just getting food from him.

I liked that second idea a little better as it kept me from starving and kept him a good distance as long as it was just talking and giving with nothing else between. The plan was gold and technically sort of really like taking candy from a baby. A nine year old baby but ta-mah-toes toe-ma-toes.

Sitting for a while, I relax back against the stump of the tree. Flexing my arm a bit and looking up through the branches to the graying sky high above. Thinking about the things I'd missed in the last high school, people who for whatever reason admired me and even whispered admiration in the halls. As a proud loner of the halls, an observer; I could realize the attraction. Spikey brown hair, blue eyes with a ridiculous ability to piss off every teacher and principal in the whole school. And yea, that's right we actually had two principals. For the record I always figured they were just overpaying each of them with no real point.

With this knowledge in mind, one would come to the obvious conclusions that I was kicked from my long term, three years in school because of some sort of comeback, act of violence or smuggling of drugs. You'd think that, yea. But the reality was something completely different.

I'd been bored. And in pain. Maybe not physically, but it was enough with every lecture about dumb people who were revered throughout history who really probably were just as idiotic as the next guy and ended up taking the fame. I looked off the hall and noticed something I had only seen a few times before, the secretary of the principal out of her office and looking as nervous and uptight as the bad outdated dress she wore.

Upon further viewing I noticed the papers she'd tossed into the trash can, which in itself was odd considering the fact it wasn't recycling and the woman was the head of the comity for recycling to begin with. I remember seeing her in all her waving signs and "spirit" yelling in chapel about clean earth and all the resources for blah blah blah.

At the end of this story is me, that kid who knows everything there is to know about everything and just doesn't care enough to pursue it. Looking into an embezzlement fraud in which one of the principals was scamming the school board out of thousands and thousands of dollars. I was caught by the other principal whom I'd gone into see with the information and who promptly and clearly concerned told me to bring in the information for a meeting the next day. After leaving the documents with him with a shrug and a thank you, I'd gotten a call the next day to go to the principals' office.

At which point both of them were waiting with both of my parents.

And both of them telling a story in which a teacher I had in second period had had her tires slashed and I'd been spotted by them doing the deed by the principals themselves leaving home.

I guess it just goes to show you how well you can trust people. And how easily it was to get on people's wrong side with enough truth.

"Is pizza okay? I got some diet coke too if you want it."

Looking up, I heard the kid rap his hand against the fence. Really, as if I could just open the fence and let him on in. I don't live behind the fence, jesus.

"Yea, sounds great...how about you toss them on over."

"Oh--well. What if I came over there and ate them with you...?"

"Uh. No. You see I have a...terrible, terrible disease. ConstantJimvitice. If you did that you could catch it by just _touching_ me. Don't want that, do you, Jimmy."

"You---you do? That's horrible. But. Then, my mom says sick people get a lot better with company. Maybe I can be really careful...!"

I practically wince at his godawful enthusiasm.

"Hmm. Sometimes it's not enough to be careful. Got these...blisters all around my arms and face. Could just. Blow up at any moment."

There's a few seconds where that punk kid is thinking and then a few seconds more he's tossed the plastic bags and coke over the fence. Relieved, I'm able to reach both of them. Impressed at how well the kid pitched those without landing them over my head. I'd have a whole new shiner and bath of ice to worry about if I'd missed the random bags of food and drink sitting around in the backyard by the time dad returned home.

Which in itself is just ridiculous as all of hell.

"Thanks."

Opening the bag of cold pizza, I eat it as if it's the best thing in the whole world. Pizza in itself is probably one of those foods I'd be happy eating forever in some dark, dank underground cavern. Maybe I'll make myself one of those some day and call it the House Cave. Wear a suit with gear, get an unbelievable amount of money and save the world with my powers of healing.

After stuffing the pizza in my mouth, I manage to dig a hole and bury the bag in the ground. Doing the same while chugging the diet coke as fast as possible. Enjoying to hell the caffiene and sugar I'd usually find myself without unless I could con someone at school out of a buck or two.

"So, your name is Greg?"

"That's what I said."

"And...your last name is House?"

"Yep. Again."

"How old are you?"

"Older than you."

"Well....yea...but."

"Seventeen."

It's fair enough I answer his questions, sitting back after burying the evidence of the crime and enjoying the few moments where I'm not hungry as all of hell.

I do still miss that baseball I'd had though.

"So...uh. What do you do for fun, Greg?"

"Well. There's sitting outside and enjoying the sounds of your sultry voice."

"Sultry...?"

"Look it up."

Before the kid could keep up with the line of steady questions, the back door to my house shut with a thud. Causing me to turn around and bristle almost immediately. Whenever I saw my father it was almost this instinctual reaction of hate and anger, something I did try very hard to keep in, but sometimes found itself slipping out and proving even further just how different we really were.

Brown hair and eyes colder than mine he walks over to me, standing for a second.

"Come on, son. Time for dinner."

Dad and his punctuality. I glare, cold and hard even while he works the knots from the tree, getting back to his feet. His voice as strong as ever, gruff with command like I was one of his soldiers being forgiven after a crime of war. I always hated that I was one of his soldiers, it dug at me to the core sometimes.

The ropes loose I rub at my wrist, getting to my feet without a word. Biting my tongue but keeping my gaze sharp as ever. His voice held a sense of "well you are a fucked up stupid man, but you've earned my forgiveness". Just as and after every work of punishment that goes on in this house. Just as I'm so lucky to have not been in the wars he has, the place and the trainings.

Timmy or whatever his name is stays quiet behind his fence; maybe he can feel the heat radiating from me while I'm led back inside. Or maybe he started talking as soon as I'd gone into eat without realizing I'd gone inside at all. I wouldn't blame the kid for being too deaf to hear my father's few words.

* * *

"Now, don't be late."

My mom is helping me get my jacket on just after setting up a brown lunch bag on the table. It's a lot bigger on me than it was when I was expelled a month or so ago and I don't hide my disdain of the idea of heading off to this new school. Maybe I'll meet new people but then maybe I'll just fail out of most of my classes like before.

She's rushing around and making sure it all goes "great" and everything, just like she always does. Voice singsong and sweet as it can be; I know mom tries to hide it but she could possibly be even more miserable than me. In fact I think she's stuck to this delusional world dad has set of military principals and work more than he has. Putting all of it into being the perfectly supporting mother and vanishing or looking away if there's ever a punishment to be done.

There are times I want to rip her down from her fantasy world and into the real one, but most often all I can feel is grief at the idea of anything happening to her. Because I know she is a mom and a wife and she is what she thinks she needs to be. She's like another part of my world with icing and chocolate that doesn't mix in with the rest of the madness. Like an angel perched in heaven while I'm here stuck with hell. I never knew how to really react to that or to stop from defending her. Even to myself when I'm furious at her.

"I know, mom. It'll be great. Don't worry."

"You'll be good?"

I sigh slightly, looking to her with what I'm figuring is a supportive smile. I do try.

"Yea. I'll be....good."

She hands me my lunch and kisses me on the forehead. Placing her hands back together and smiling her sweet, but tired smile. Leaving me to head off to the bus that should be picking me up within the next ten minutes.

Mom was always just as punctual as dad, but in her defense it was really him who made her that way. I started out the door, grabbing my backpack on the way and heading off down the sidewalk. At first I don't realize it, standing there in front of the house of that kid I'd seen the other day, but then looking over I hear him. I wouldn't have been able to recognize the squirt as I had no idea how he looked, but upon hearing that godawful cheery little voice it fit well with the kid's appearance.

He was a scrawny little shit. And to be fair, so was I. Brown hair, brown eyes. Jewish, I'd wager. Beaming little smile and an older kid who I was assuming was his brother. Now him, him I had seen before walking home. Watering a garden and smiling with a wave to his little "nurse" mother.

Who knew if the nurse part was even true though. The kid could've been just making that part up for all I knew. The older kid, though not as old as me; patted the kid's head and headed back to the house. I could only guess as to whatever reason why.

"Hey. Kid."

After standing there for a few seconds; gym shoes, white socks and a blue and purple back pack; he looks up a little confused. And...then after seeing me he tilts his head with a frown, even more confused.

"Greg...?"

"Yea. What are you doing here."

"Going to school..."

I look off a little annoyed for just a second. Glancing down the street.

"You. Do realize this is the bus for high schoolers right."

"Uh. Yea...I thought you had blisters all over your face."

...Whoops. Forgot about that. I keep going without a missed beat though, looking down the street again for the said bus to arrive and take me on my merry way. Maybe I could go back and correct the kid's mom in time from saving him on boarding the wrong bus.

"Yea, they come and go. So what are you heading to high school?"

"There's a middle school program there too...my mom usually home schools me, but this year I wanted to go to a---"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Home schools you?"

"Yea. Me and my brother--"

"Home schools."

"Yea...well. Only recently. I skipped a few grades and--"

"....As in. Cookies and math with a home made board."

"Um. Well, I guess me and some other kids who lived on our old block."

".....And. You're nine and going to a high school that offers middle school classes. With high schoolers. Does your mom just want you to get beaten up or does she just hate you."

I'm genuinely looking at the little punk and this kid doesn't seem to have any idea on what to say. Opening his mouth for a moment and shutting it, seemingly more on the confused side. All i can think to do is pray for the best and wonder to myself how a woman who is both a nurse and teacher can be so ridiculously and recklessly dumb.

That goes the same for whatever brilliant force of God decided that it might be a good idea to toss middle schoolers in with a bunch of high schooling druggies. The place we were going to was marked as one of the best of the district grade point average wise but upon further research you'd realize how easily each of the brochure's points skimmed passed any drug and violence issue.

If you don't brag about something being a great percentage and go so far as to try to make it seem nonexisting, generally that means it's probably a very, very bad percentage. Meaning I was prepared for a school filled with idiots who cheat their way through each grade and punch people out for giving the wrong impression. Me, I could take on two guys with nothing buy my fists and a good bit of kicking.

This kid however--I could only further imagine how often he'd be strung up to the flag pole at the front of the school. I guess it only took someone as deeply thinking and simplistic as me to see a gaping huge hole of logic in this situation.

Sighing, I look off back towards the kid's house.

"Look kid. I'd go back to your mom, tell her you want to keep doing homeschooling or set yourself back to the third grade. That way you can be in a normal middle school that isn't here."

"Well, I know what to expect..."

"And what's that."

"I used to get beaten up a lot before my mom got me into homeschooling."

"Oh yea, and I'm absolutely sure that the other five year olds were terrible and awful to deal with."

"It...was actually...--"

"Don't care. Just. Trust me. Alright."

The bus came down the street, humming in rhythm and pouring grey fumes into the air as it came to a stop. The sign popped foreword where inside you could clearly see the very uninterested and grumpy face of an overweight Mexican driver--anything but enjoying his job.

I give the kid a look and with just a quick raise of my brows, step onto the bus. Smelling like left over sandwiches and stale stench of fading puke. The entire contraption vibrating underneath me while I made my way down the center passed rows of different kids who all for some reason assorted themselves not just by grade but culture too. You had the peppy ones clustered in two rows and then the darker, grudging kids, the smart ones, the jocks who were at the very front. Fortunately I didn't care about any of them. And by just glancing I could tell just what they were doing or thinking or why they were where they'd ended up.

High school was a messy but oddly humorous thing. Filled with little teenage kids and their little teenage lives that didn't go out of their little teenage classes filling up on useless teenage knowledge they'd never learn or know or care about ever again. Slouching into an empty seat at the back, I stared off toward the ceiling. Waiting for it to get a move on and head off towards my new school. Which oddly enough seemed and appeared so far--exactly like my old school, give or take the less impressive bus and bus driver.

I didn't see the kid getting out when we arrived, so figured that to be a good sign. Heading off to my first class and getting there deliberately ten minutes late. When the teacher offered to introduce myself I went ahead and told everyone the facts, standing before a class of kids who seemed to be filled with suck ups and a few slackers.

"I'm Greg House. I was expelled from my last school because I shanked someone in the street parking lot. And take meds to keep me from going crazy. So. If you'd like to see me or hang out with me or anything of the sort, I'd be sure to remember the meds aren't that affective and I may very well just _snap_ on any of you."

My smile was not deterred by the teacher's stern glare or the class who seemed suddenly much more interested and confused. Predictably as teenage kids happened to be, a stream of whispers ended up breaking out while I took my seat at the back of the class. Tossing my bag to the floor. The teacher got up front, gave a forced smile and started class.

I think she was noting all the ways she could get me into detention from just that statement alone. Despite that fact, it didnt' end up happening. And when I got to my next class, the teacher only welcomed me with a "Greg--it's good to have you at our school."

"Oh yea, I'm grateful for this second chance. It was a relief to hear the teacher I stabbed ended up surviving."

The man too, didn't seem to know how to react. Going for the lines of thinking I was making a joke so he forced a very uncomfortable laugh while I made myself situated there as well. The time lunch rolled on by I was pretty well known as a freaky kid with issues so more over everyone was leaving me alone.

I really liked it that way. I might have the physique of a scrawny kid, but when fighting came to fighting I was usually pretty good. Might as well avoid that altogether though and keep with lies and words on settling into this place.

Lunch was served on a long tray pressed up at the back of the room--mac and cheese, chicken, cheese burgers, fries, and salad. Woman with hair nets and a few older, rugged looking men splashing or dropping each onto trays. Different from my old school, but also so similar it was hard to tell I was somewhere else at all. Kind of sad how similar everything always was in this respect.

I'd managed to get a few bucks off a backpack of smaller kid and got a coke while dumping out the lunch I had from home. I felt sick staring at it and for all of a few moments genuinely considered throwing it all out. In fact, that's just what I was going to do.

Setting the coke aside I gathered up the apple, sandwich, banana and crackers together--shoving them back into the brown bag they'd come from. Tossing it into the trash can a few feet away--hitting with perfect accuracy.

"....Were they spoiled or something?"

I shift my gaze--abrupt towards a girl standing near my table. Smiling with a book against her chest and a lunch bag in one arm. Her expression was more one of amusement or curiousity than anything; and it captured me almost instantly. I felt myself staring a little too long, shaking it off with a more narrowed look.

"Uh...yea. Who are you."

Brushing a strand of black hair, she smiled a little more tentatively, slipping into the chair in front of me. Leaving me to keep staring--and not just at her eyes. She wore a cheerleading uniform--something I already knew on instinct meant that she was apart of a clan of over worried, super hot, brainless young girls.

I wasn't sure if that was my type or not.

"Lisa. I know the things you said in those classes are a lie."

Lisa. Who names their girls "Lisa". I looked at her while sitting back a bit. A little straighter.

"Oh yea? What makes you think that."

"Because...I overheard the principal say you were caught slashing a teacher's tires."

"Hey, I pulled a knife on my last principal."

"No you didn't..."

She was very sweet. A little too sweet, but also intelligence while looking up towards me. Dark eyeshadow and very bright blue eyes. Yet what she says does catch my interest more than anything, sitting back further against my chair.

"And what makes you think that."

"You're sitting at an empty table, alone."

"....And this means..."

"There's only two reasons someone would tell every class that they stabbed someone...Either they want admiration and fear or they want to be left alone. If it was the first, you'd be out with the bullying street kids over at the other table." I stare at her a long moment. Just sort of looking. Impressed and confused both at once, figuring there's more to the little observation that she's taking out here. She smiles, looking down as if about to confess a little more. "That, and...

If you really had stabbed someone, the school never would've let you come here."

Now I'm even more impressed. But--warily so. Looking the girl up and down, chewing on my lip with quite a bit of thought.

"....Well. You're smart. Lisa. Strikes me as a little odd with you being a...cheerleader."

"It's an after school participation that looks good in my resume to college."

Lifting her head, smiling as if proud for a moment. And though not a lot gets passed me I still can't see what's very proud about being a cheerleader. I guess the girl was proud about her success, for something to prove. Working the system to get to the top.

I nod my head, gruff but easily. Still studying as she got back to her feet and gathered her lunch.

"Anyways...it's nice to meet you. If you'd like some advice, I'd ace the tests you can and put extra thought into the papers for most of the classes. Most of the teachers here will give you points for just making it seem like a lot of effort even if it isn't. And a lot of colleges like that sort of thing too."

"Is that so."

"The higher level classes are actually easier than the lower grade ones too. So...if you have a chance to go into honors, I'd take it."

Another polite smile, and the girl starts off. Leaving through the cluster of riled and noisy kids into the crowd. Ultimately towards a table filled with cheer leaders.

Lisa.

What a weird girl.

* * *

Well. I hope people enjoy the presense of Cuddy, because that is probably the last we will see of her. I meant for this to be primarily a Wilson/House kind of fic but couldn't help myself on throwing in Cuddy there too. Damn. You know that thing where a character takes over your brain--well blame it here.

Anyways, reviews are always welcome, and hopefully here's to getting loads more chapters to come very soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** The Problem with Life

**Chapter:** 2

**Authors Notes: **Aaand a new chapter...! Still being sure to keep close to the facts told off the TV series, and thanks again for everyone who's been reading. As always, please don't hesitate to review! Comments and suggestions are always welcome :)

* * *

It's a brand new day. I'm going off to the bus again and my mom's waving me off. My dad drinking his coffee while standing beside her. The spitting image of what good parents should be. Should be being the incentive that I'm only waving back with a grudging hatred and humiliation at the very act. On normal circumstances I wouldn't give my dad the time of day. But right now, in front of mom; I really had to. So I'm making my way up the sidewalk again and waiting for the bus to pull up. Hitching my backpack, ignoring the growing clouds above me. Sighing to myself while I wait while a couple of other kids gather near by to be picked up.

Around this time is probably when I see that kid again. And I'm left thinking to myself why he's out here for the second time when I'd assumed he'd already been back home yesterday morning. I glance over while he gives a meek wave my way. Just as excited and just as peaky as yesterday.

"Hi Greg."

"Hey, I thought I told you to stay here."

The little twerp just looks up at me, shorter than anything and beams like a kid without any care in the world. It almost makes me want to shove him into the dirt just to see if it'd have any sort of affect at all. He'd probably just get back up and hug me or something.

"Well, I couldn't do that...and yesterday wasn't so bad at all. My first day was great!"

"What, yesterday---I thought you stayed here."

"Nah, I mean thanks for the worry Greg, but. I'm way old enough to take care of myself."

Take care of himself. I look him up and down noting the two sizes too big backpack and now the little sports cap nesting on his head. Doubt pretty clear here.

"Yea....you have a machete in there I don't know about?"

It'd go towards explaining why the backpack was so damn big.

Jimmy just smiles as if I'd made a joke of the situation; maybe a tad confused but for the most part happy as can be. Clueless people like that always drove me mad, especially clueless nine year old kids. Or eight year old. Or hell, I'll go so far to say any-year-old.

The bus pulls up once again with a steady hum, same driver; same line of kids and same wafting smell of teenager shitdom while the two of us climb on. I admit, being the observant guy I am, I'm pretty surprised I hadn't noticed Jimmy getting off yesterday, but then judging on how fast he slips into the crowd of older kids and disappears; I rethink that last bit of lapse in judgement. Trying to spot him again while piling into the bus myself. Getting towards the back and setting down without seeing anyone I'd met the previous day; whether in class or not. Particularly not that Lisa girl; though I assumed most of the more gifted do-good children who played a part in cheer leading and honor classes got rides from their families or parents. It would've been nice to give her a hello though.

Me and the rest of the world were stuck on the bus. Chatter filled all around me.

While the bus in question began to pull away; slowly at first but soon enough speeding on through the streets. Places and houses and yards flashing on by in a fast, tracking motion--reminding me all too clearly of the Flinstone cartoons and the passingly repeated backgrounds. I wasn't one to watch too much TV in the house I lived in, but there had been a few nights as a kid where my mom would stay up with me and we'd cook popcorn while dad was away.

My mom. Huh. I glance towards my bag resting off beside me; in all it's old pack glory. Inside there's another home-made lunch, one I didn't intend to eat. My stomach churning a little at the thought.

There were times in my memory like that which kept me from feeling horrible towards her, to be honest. Though caught in a rift of fantasy, I couldn't pull myself down to hating her like I did my father. I knew she was trapped. And the way dad would bark at her sometimes just made me realize that she really was just playing a role. And that she really was just doing what she had to think was right. Over all...I don't know what I think of mom. And thoughts of keeping her safe really compel me. Despite all the bad things, there were a few good memories in there too...

A kid at the front tossed a wad of paper at the driver. Who grunted and yelled back. Soon there was chaos; after a few others were tossing things back and forth, causing a general ruckus and a few comments about "immaturity" and "yea, beat the system!" with mutual laughter from the kids I had the great "pleasure" to referring to as my class mates. High school was high school I guessed.

The driver barked at them all, me sitting; slouching against the chair while staring off as the scenery rushed by. Other kids talking and talking as if the rest of the world depended on each little sliver of drama. I didn't see Jimmy while on the bus or even as we pulled in. Thinking for some reason of an image of him sneaking into some kind of compartment or safe haven for the younger kids. Hell, maybe he was just hiding under one of the seats. I tried to spot the little kid when we pulled up to the high school if not more for my own curiosity while everyone started shoving their way off. Talking loudly. The driver in a fowl mood as ever; glaring daggers at me while I took my sweet time being one of the last to leave. As if I'd been the one to toss that wad of paper to begin with.

Didn't blame him; I wasn't the most productive looking of kids out there. I did give him a cheerful smile and wave while heading out though.

The smell was bad, sure, but being last gave me a little more leg room and better yet; went further for my routine of tardiness I planned to stick by. I was a determined guy and being as dedicated as I was; I couldn't afford to mess up on my specific routines, you know.

The sky was getting more and more gray; the smell of the vomit-sweat-free air a bit of a blessing despite the cold. I took my time getting to the school doors, rounding the entire building once over while keeping a good hold of my backpack. Before entering the building I was sure to toss my brown lunch bag filled from this morning in the trash and getting back up to the front door in which one of the guards glared my way. Looking like he'd swallowed something fowl--but then again I had to figure that's how the guy always looked. I wouldn't know, but it seemed the stereotype. He was one of the few in the whole school; counting four in total. Most of which I doubted could do any real harm to a kid seeing as most of them were over weight or retired and were armed with nothing but those corny-ass plastic sticks you see cops chasing after masked robbers in commercials and in those really bad black and white cartoon shows.

I figure the day'll be long, but I find my first class a pretty big success--in the fact that no one seems to care enough to want to bother me with trouble. Even the teacher avoids any legitimately dumbass questions in my direction. My ruse yesterday seemed to be a winning success; though unfortunately I didn't spot heads or tales of Lisa either. And I know, but it's been on my mind a bit. In my next class I found it to be the same; the teacher droning on about math equations I already knew while racking my brain to figure out just where I'd seen her before lunch.

It could've easily been in biology. But then she said she only took honor classes. Which I didn't have. Could have been before school, but then I hadn't gone about spreading rumors at that point. The only thing I could possibly think of was a teachers assistant--giving credit and further points on a college resamay. That sounded about right, plus it also meant that she had every other class she could get done by that point to. A way over achiever and not the unsexy kind either; something I inadvertently found myself very attracted to.

I'd have to look through the classes and see which ones had student assistants later that day if I didn't see her again. Hoping at least to give her a thanks or at the very best grab a drink together after school at that old crapshack hang out. It had been seventeen years of living and I'd only once before had any legitimate attraction to anyone in a manner that went beyond just sexual. Because, lord knows I've found enough attractive woman and...on occasion men (everyone thinks it, no one says it). Once, admittedly with a kid in seventh grade with dark hair and green eyes. Brilliant ass hole with a knack for each class he took. Now, I don't particularly consider myself of the male attracted variety; particularly with the family I have and the messy reasons beneath that, but I admit he had the same spark that caught my attention with Lisa. And the same intelligent charm. Same smile.

Who knew. Maybe Jamie Adams had gotten a sex change since seventh grade. Maybe I was just a sucker for the dark-eyed intelligent type.

The bell sounded off and just as on the bus, kids were piling out of the room. It's what teenagers did for every time a bell went off or the speakers came on. What typically happened whenever the teacher dismissed a class. The noise skyrocketed, people talked and laughed while pushing their way through a hallway two times too small for everyone to properly squeeze through all at once. High school at it's finest, and what I was sure was just like any high school out there. People had this weirdly bizarre way of keeping to stereotype I guess.

It was only by the time I made it to the drinking fountain at the other side of the school that I saw some kids slip out with large black jackets and a glazed, stupid grin look. Would you look at that. Something else I recognized and was all over faster than anyone can say "ditching class?"

English Literature could always wait until tomorrow, I was sure.

"Hey...you're that kid that stabbed a teacher in Fallbrooks High."

Pushing passed the large metal doors, I barely nod to the pair of kids and the dumbest ones exclamation filled with both awe and a sort of distant unease. Cold air hitting me the instant I step outside, taking a good look at the two. One darker skinned with black hair, the other blond. I stopped for a second to think if it was possible this first kid would've considered that I'd been a lying ass hole about the story had he been sober. My instant thought was... no. No, probably not.

"That'd be me. Greg."

Even if I'm hoping to use my powerful talents of manipulation and persuasion; I don't bother to go as far as offer my hand in any sort of greeting. It'd go far too against my principals and morals of a superior, smarter and all around better looking human being.

The two kids, dumb and...dumbest look between each other. Shifting and pulling out a carton of cigarettes.

"You want a smoke?"

So you might be flashing back to those b-grade movies of teenage kids or the commercials they often showed on the television about drugs and addictions and scary faced teenagers leering down to the younger Jimmy-looking child while forcing drugs onto their soon-to-be grave with that same phrase; but here it was not only well placed but extremely welcomed.

Those ads if anything just go so far to prove that the only people they'll be remotely affecting are the ones that wouldn't be devastatingly affected by drugs to begin with. The families, kids, and the dumb asses after escape are generally the type to accept these things and ultimately fear is only distilled in people who aren't the type to get into drugs, and the parents who watch the commercials would only be the types who would've already nailed that belief into their poor deluded children to begin with.

Really in reality it was just a great big message of "Hey! Look at these people who are already doing drugs, aren't they an awful bunch! Why not hate them for screwing up your children" and leave the rest of the world to get them picked out and separated from society.

It's really a great place we live; the US.

I take the cigarette; grateful as all of hell though giving my thanks with just a nod.

"And you two are...?"

"Tom. I'm Tom, this is Jose." An American and a Mexican. Isn't surprising. He takes out a lighter, flicking it on for my benefit. After the end is lit I take a drag; enjoying the taste and feel of the product. Even feeling a little bit more prone towards dumb and dumbest (already forgot their names) for their choice in type.

"Huh. So. Don't suppose you two also the type prone to get real violent or physical around here."

Since he brought it up I might as well milk the story all I can. Even if it's a trick question; I already know they aren't. The only reason they're offering this sort of thing to me is because stoners are ridiculously easy to manipulate and even easier to befriend and bum off of. Particularly the kinds you find still in school around the back of unguarded doors like this one. I think it's an ongoing stoner law to stick with that stereotype. Fine by me.

"Aw nah, me, Jose and a few other guys hang out a lot--but we don't really support violence. You know...the peace movement and everything. It's what we're really about." Jose nods his agreement, taking a drag of his own. I'm estimating him to be maybe fourteen, maybe fifteen. The other kid, Andrew or something's, got a bigger build on him and I'd guess if he was the same age, he could pass for a legal eighteen year old adult.

"Well. Sounds great..." Taking another drag, I look off down the alley. Blowing off with ease. "What about this school. Any advice with guys I should be watching my back for."

"I don't know, man...you already stabbed a teacher, right. Those kind of people usually end up behind bars, yea. But yea, you know there's a group here, a few guys who are a lot of trouble. Can't ever be linked to anything, but people know they're not guys you want to mess with. Usually just picking on the freshman and the type, but you know."

"Oh yea, sounds like a rough crowd." I try and keep my sarcasm in check best I can. It doesn't completely reward me, but hey. I make effort.

"Yea, man. They're top of the school too. Got like, top notch grades and records, teachers won't touch that."

"Uhuh....well. Let me just give off a wild swing here. They're apart of the football team?"

"Oh yea. Dude, that was incredible. Wow. You're good."

"Oh well, you know I'm just a regular genius, me."

I stayed for a while more baring down on idiot conversations, focusing more on the rewards. It was maybe a little more conversation of this and them losing track of what they were saying before going into some deeper things inside the universe crap until the bell rang and the two of them offered me a few more ciggs for the road. I thanked them and got off towards my next class; extremely relieved from the break and the pack and also grateful that high schools kept with every stereotype if it meant gullible stoners were grouped in with that.

Can't hate a place for that much.

I had a few ciggs for later, and coming up next year I'd probably be able to buy them myself if I ever felt like it. Sure they killed you but 90 percent of people who were aware of this didn't seem to care all that much. People who smoke and go into these things don't generally have a whole lot of reserve for their lives to begin with. That or it's worth the risk just to get the ultimate reward.

I shut the door, heading off from one class to the next. Just as dull as the last few. Drowning out the noise as the teacher rants; glancing down at the paper hand out set in front of me. A few kids are whispering about who knows what, jabbering on band concerts and week ends that I don't care about. I'm focusing my thoughts at the task at hand; one of which I hope to find or spot Lisa again. Maybe not right away, but eventually. I know I'm brilliant enough to spot her again or at least learn more about her schedule and happen to bump into the girl. I'm good like that, you see.

Bell rings. I move on. Storm spreading outside and inside if you count my classmates.

I don't see Lisa in any of them and finding myself back at lunch once again, standing there and looking over the heads of students. When there was nothing I was finally left to plan B. A little disappointed; but always the determined one--heading off to the front office and ask them if they knew where I could find "Lisa, a teacher's assistant" as she was my tutor and I hadn't seen her today. Great story, right.

The woman at the desk looked me up and down, and I give myself credit for being a very fluently talented liar before she went to glancing back down at her computer.

"Yea...I know Lisa. But I'm sorry, she left the school just a few days ago. Yesterday was her last day packing up."

"I--...what?"

"Bright, cheerful young woman. Left with a few good-byes--already accepted into a very renowned college. It's girls like her that make this job worth while. You said she was your tutor...?"

She left? She left. So yesterday--. I pause a second. Rubbing my head.

"Uh...yea. Yea..."

"You know I bet if you go to the LRC they can help you find a new one. It seems strange she wouldn't have told a student she was helping she was leaving, though..."

I stare at the desk for a few moments, slowly nodding my head. Unable to come to terms with the writhe of disappointment that fills me, leaving the front desk behind with a quick, stern thank you. Unable to really imagine that I'd spent all this time obsessing over this only to find out the girl wasn't even coming back. And then all that bullshit about advice and getting to the top from her. It was also pretty ridiculous I have to add--just how abandoned I'd felt in that moment. Like a kid who'd lost something before they'd really found it. Like maybe something worth something. She was probably just doing herself a last favor to a kid who needed help before going on her merry way. Leaving it all behind for a bright future. It made me mad. And it kept at me with a writhing disappointment. Her eyes still lingering in my head while slumping into a chair at lunch; promptly propping my feet against the table.

It's moments like this that really show how childish I am. Moments like this I realize I really need to let go of these things before they get to me.

I spent the rest of the day in a pretty fowl mood, and ended up ditching another class just to get my head in the clear. Maybe smoke a few of the cigarettes I'd gotten from those kids from earlier while I was at it if I got the time.

So there I am. Heading down the hall. Deep in thoughts of a kid who was, of all things, disapointed in a failed crush. Realizing a little too late this girl wasn't intelligent--just nice. And that's funny, I hate nice people. Nice people are generally nice for themselves. I figure to myself that it'd been pretty dense, the whole of it. And being not just a teenage kid, but one new to the school...

Maybe I'd just been played a little.

The guards didn't seem to notice even while I'd made my way into the parking lot alley behind the school. There was a dumpster back here and generally where the trucks filled with food and supplies would pull up in the mornings. The door that was chained locked leading straight into the cafeteria kitchen and beyond it was a metal gate fencing it off into a sort of alley to keep people from...I wasn't sure. Stealing the truck's items? I guess.

I lean against the wall; bitterly. Finding it the perfect place not to get caught. There really wasn't a lot of noise going on outside here and with most everyone in class I was left to myself. Cold creeping around me, mind drifting. Wishing somehow I had that ball to bounce off the wall for ideas or motivation; thinking back to the fence and that spot in the grass and my little home I slept, lived, and worked in.

Maybe I could grow up some day and just be a drifter. Cheat people from their money and make my way to success with drugs, drinks and the endless supply of women. Maybe I could just be a genius card player, figure out a way to get through the system and end up winning millions. Maybe I could join the military---hahaha yea, good one Greg. That made me give a little bit of a grin at least. Military. Wouldn't that be a hilarious sense of bitter irony. Really. If anything I'd be sticking that bullet in my brain faster than anyone could say "Sergent House" if it came between the two. No, I was at least prideful in the sense that I wasn't anything like my dad.

My dad who in part, I didn't even believe was my dad.

Along those thoughts and the ones of home and Lisa ended up with me taking a few more walks around the school. Cursing stuck up girls and their charming eyes, black hair and tight asses before finally just heading back through the same door I'd propped open before. Like I said, the guards weren't the brightest. Heading down the hall and feeling a little better. And a little more motivated on getting back to class and bearing through the next part of the day. The guards didn't catch me as I got through the doors; but heading back to class one did stop me. Demanding in an old, hag kind of voice the reasons to being outside in the hall ways "when you should be inside learning!"

It was almost laughable the idea these guys honestly thought they had any control. The only control they tried to relay was that in intimidation and the powers of being able to call your parents and send you to the front desk. So really I went ahead and shrugged my shoulders in a rather flippant way, offering my own humorous grin to the brilliant situation.

"Well, you know when nature calls there isn't much to be done, sir."

Sir was left with a mocking tone; but I guess the idiot didn't get even that much. How much I hate the world and the people in it; thinking I actually respected him enough to call him sir. Jesus.

Despite the fact he gave a narrowed look and nodded his head off towards the restroom in question--down the hall in the opposite direction. Giving my own little salute/wave (nothing like my dad had taught me at home, of course), I was heading off towards the locker rooms that also served as a restroom. I think it was a close call, but Guard McAssFace didn't seem to notice or process any of it.

I guess it's better to be ignorant and full of self worth than be knowledgeable and realize how not cut out for a job you really are.

The door to the men's room opened with a swift push, but heading in I heard the noise before I got to the other side. I don't think there was really anything particularly going on inside my head at the time but from the instant I heard the jeers and hollers it was pretty easy to connect the dots to just what was going on. There was first, the locker room upon stepping beyond the swinging, wooden door. Lockers against the wall and a long wall of metal at the end which led to the wonderfully graffitied bathrooms. To my side, another hall that led to the showers. All of it really just a big room that was sort of like a maze if you thought about it hard enough.

I'd always figured they'd made locker rooms like this sound proof by accident. Imagine how many poor little ass holes got their asses beaten in every day because of it. I knew this, you see; because I was actually one of those poor little ass holes before getting into and through most of the later grades of high school. Middle school and even a while after; the fact I was just a scrawny shit tended to keep me a good target for jocks who felt the need to compensate for their lack in performance of other areas, I was sure. All until becoming something more of a legend, admired along the halls. That was probably a little after I'd kicked these jocks ass Sophomore year.

A flush and a splash. More jeering while I stood against the lockers, waiting for the guys to get the hell out of here so I could take a piss and be on my way. Nothing I could do for the squirt whoever he was, so for the moment waiting seemed like a wonderful option. Not just for now, but any time this sort of thing was bound to happen. It did make me think though and wonder if maybe these jackasses were the ones dumb and dumbest from earlier were talking about. It was hard to say as most teenagers in this stage of existence tended to do this to anything smaller to them anyways.

It was like a big testosterone contest and for the girls--it was like a big beauty and nail scratching contest. Funny how these things always turned out.

I wonder what Lisa would do in a cat fight. She'd probably just talk them down. Or scratch their eyes out. Make out...?

Stuck thinking on that for a moment, I missed the ending of the beat down as the pack of ass holes sauntered around the corner of the stalls. And hey...! Would you look at that. They really _are _stereotypes...! So very impressive; the way they scowl at me. Looking me down like a piece of trash while here I am, grinning just fine and dandy. I think it was the rumor of me shanking some head teacher that kept them from making any giant cliche' beat your ass comments, I'm both grateful and maybe a tad disappointed. Watching while they leave the restroom; door shutting behind them. I'm guessing the group just came from lunch, but who knew.

Guess I'd have to watch out for any more little spats the bullies got themselves into in the future.

After the door swings shit, I push myself up from off the lockers and start towards the actual urinal area of the restroom. Across me is the metal wall sprayed over with blue paint and some more colorful words that a teacher probably tried to scrub off, but never quite got out. There's a puddle of water across the pale yellow tile, but I don't pay any attention. Probably leading to the stall in which whoever the victim was remained at and pretty easily a sign towards some kind of master swirly.

Yea, these guys were top notch High School students. And not to mention cliche'.

I noticed the small shifting of what sounded like papers while I unzipped, whistling under my breath, maneuvering with ease and letting it rip. Guess I'll make it back in time for the rest of class.

"Um.... ......."

It's probably the voice. _That voice_. Of course. _Of course_. That just makes me shut my eyes with regret and a wince; a natural head palm feeling of "you have to be kidding me".

Zipping up and bearing a smile before turning to the stall in question just behind me.

Sure enough. There he was. The little twerp himself in all his wet and brown-haired glory. Dripping wet with something of a red mark across his face. Shifting while picking up a few papers spread off across the tile ground beneath us. And you know the first thing I notice...? How I said earlier that I figured if I pushed the runt in the mud he'd still be as happy as ever...?

He wasn't crying. I think that really struck me, for the moment at least. He looked if anything, shaken up and maybe a little disappointed. Pushing his binder into that over sized, now wet, backpack and peering up towards me with brown chestnut eyes.

".....Great. It's you."

I speak in a growl, but end up, for whatever damn reason kneeling down and helping him gather his little things. Cursing both myself and this kid for getting me into such a position, but figuring too he could use the help. God knows this was going to happen---how many times had I told him it would happen. Twice. And I should've only said it once, for that matter. It was amazing how dense a kid like this could be.

Or--better yet a parent. He just keeps looking up towards me while I shift the papers into his bag. Looking away and biting his lip; forcing in the last bit of his stuff.

"....Thanks."

I get to my feet and help him up to his own. Grimacing a little in what I'm sure is an oncoming head ache. I wasn't ever good with kids. And I mean, I was even worse with little nine year old perfect boy ones. Yet he just tried to give a smile and a grateful nod...shifting his bag onto his back.

"I'll just tell my mom I fell off my bike. Thanks, Greg..."

"You know there's a much simpler way to go about solving this."

"Yea...."

"It involves maybe two words. To one person. "Home schooling". "Again"."

"That was three words..."

Rolling my eyes, I gesture for the little punk to follow along. Might as well get this over with. He does, trailing behind me like a lost duck. I don't bother to look back, even if it does kind of get at me. All the while him trailing bits of water behind me as the two of us head to the door.

"Well, three words or not there isn't a whole lot else to do. You might think they'll leave you alone, but squirt the way you look you're bound to have trouble."

Out of the mens' room and straight towards the ladies'. Jimmy pauses for a second as I open the door, looking at me with wide, uncertain eyes. I think he's more uncertain and timid now than when I found him soaked in sewage water just minutes ago. It was actually kind of funny in a weird, dumb way.

"Come on, squirt."

He really doesn't seem too keen or sure, but despite this I guess I just have this unbelievable amount of persuasion. That or he's just way too trusting and naive to even really be considered a real nine year old boy.

Could be the second. Probably.

We head inside and I'm going straight towards the stalls. And viola--there they were! In all their shining, pale white glory. Just as I predicted there's a row of small hairdryers; all of which are connected with curly wires leading into the walls beside all the mirrors. The boy's room may have urinals, but typically the girl's would come with a handful of things that first area wouldn't. That lingering smack you in the stench of about a thousand different perfumes meshed into one hitting you like a brick, the more colorful assortments of wallpapers, hair dryers, thicker curtains at the showers and of course, the very clear lack of any graffiti that isn't behind the bathroom stalls themselves. Girls tend to scribble whatever rumors they want behind those things--a rich source of gossip.

Something else I had learned in my whole seventeen years of living, you see.

Jimmy looks around like the place might collapse and stands up near the sinks; me guiding him over while taking off one of the connected dryers. Turning it on while blowing it in the general direction of his hair. The very least the kid could go back to class not soaking wet with the thrills of other class mates reactions and laughter. If he was picked on by one group and another found out, chances are he'd be caught on by them too.

Not that his little sports cap, big shoes and backpack didn't already accomplish that quite nicely anyways.

The kid scrunched up his face a little, tensing while I worked through his wavy mop of hair. I laugh slightly, seeing his expression at the corner of my eye.

"Hey. Don't worry, it's only going to be a few more minutes. Trust me, girls use this all the time so I don't think it's going to explode on us."

"I--guess I'm just not...used to using them is all." He still keeps his eyes squinted, and I can smell him dear god. Still reeking of bathroom and shifting a little while I work to dig out his papers and binder and dry them too. We spend most of the class period in there, airing all of these things out. And to our luck not one girl came in the whole time; though another thing learned from experience typically if there was one; more were bound to be in the same vicinity. Again, grateful we weren't ambushed.

Well. Mostly grateful.

Jimmy shakes his head like a dog. Running his hand against it and thanking me again, looking a lot more at ease by the time we exited. Going down the hallway so small in comparison to me I might be able to mistake him for a cockerspaniel. He seemed like the type.

The bell rang just in time, echoing against the halls and Jimmy looks up at me again. Still seemingly a little more relaxed in my presence. Less jittery and less of a spit-fuck-peppy attitude.

"You know. I have this rock climbing thing...after school. I just go for the nights, my dad is friends with someone there so--you. Want to come with?"

A rock climbing place. Of course.

"Let me guess. Car pool."

"Well, yea...unless you can drive...?"

"Nope. Not yet. But when I do you can be sure I'll get a motorcycle."

So there we go off down the hall, talking a bit like this a bit more until Jimmy reaches his respective class. Evidently he's not brave enough to tackle on a motorcycle now or in the future, but I assure him it's about as freeing as anything in the world. Even to think about, though I am carefully sure not to give the little squirt an answer on the whole rock climbing thing. That in itself sounds complicated, unneeded and more over unwanted.

Instead going to my last class for the day; dreaming of the guitar I'd be saving up for some day and seeing the professor as she stands at the front of the class and begins her speech with, "So today class we're going to talk about something God calls us too, no matter our position or age. _Abstinence_."

....Yea. It was really then I realized that I should've ditched this last period too.

* * *

Back at home. And I'm back here. At my place. With my dad. And my mom. And this house. And the smell of mothballs. On this bed that feels more and more lumpy by every day. Sitting and thinking to myself of the recent events and everything else going on in my life and maybe in other people's lives too. I think of Lisa and realize finally how fleeting the meeting was. Jimmy with his hyper spit fuck attitude and the hopes that I won't see him much from now on. Odds are with that many kids in one high school we'll just glance off in passing. Odds are also that I won't get too far...

But then I do remember the words of that girl, in that lunch room; with that advice. Thinking while tossing my beloved baseball up and down in thought. Catching and tossing and catching it with a rhythm that keeps my mind working. I figure that there's a test and a quick summary due tomorrow. All in all it'd take me a whole of ten minutes to type up and get ready. Less even if I just managed to wing it and make up some well timed book titles that coincide with my "research".

After tossing the ball a few more times, weighing my options--I decide to just go ahead and go for it. Sitting down against the chair and scrawling out the summary for a paper on biology and the conditions of heart in extreme panic. Working what was a one page summary into just that. I had no interest in being an over achiever or even looked at with any notice or reverence from my teachers or class mates. So I guessed if Lisa was right, I'd be able to make it good enough to qualify for those easier classes and maybe get my parents--more accurately my dad from going off on me.

That and...maybe I was genuinely, a tad slightly...little afraid of what would happen after high school was over and done with. And just which colleges would accept a guy like me. And if maybe I'd be stuck here until being forced to head off into the military...

Biting down against my pencil for a moment, I push off the desk. Shoving the paper into my backpack. Just about by the time dad storms up to my room, busts open the door and shoves me onto the bed.

* * *

My mom's pleading but I don't know what it is I'm hearing. I get flashes of cold burning ice and my lungs suddenly quit working; my body going off on instinctual struggle. I flail and push but in reality it's all coming slowly to my mind that maybe it is better to just go limp--that maybe it is better to just take it and get it over with if just for another week of clean, concise "normal" family experiences. And just for the sake of my mom to stop with her pleading tone off wherever my dad's stern, barking one breaks through.

I catch him in little tid bits, but his voice seems a lot clearer than hers. "The boy needs to be taught a lesson--you know what it is these other kids out there do--! Dealers and murders and thieves. Our boy is _better_ than this, he's better than--"

Against the current of freezing water. My head plunging back into the bath tub filled with ice and a shock coming into my system. For some reason I'm thinking of Jimmy and his forced swirlies in school, how I'd been through something similar as a kid and how different and the same I'd found myself right now despite all that.

It was a few seconds at best, but it felt like it was a whole lot more. Choking and gasping while the man rips my head from where it had been dunked; still barking in my ear.

"You want to tell me what it is you did--!?"

I didn't know. Honest to god I didn't know. I tried to stutter out as much but somewhere in my deafeningly still mind I knew that too was a ridiculously bad move. Times like this were the ones I knew not to mess with, but also the times that slid passed me and hid inside my own memories. Vanishing from the slots of my brain.

"You _don't know!?_ Don't _give_ me that, Greg--come on--"

I stutter, trying to beg to him--I had no idea what he was talking about, really. I hadn't done anything, suddenly I was angry and yelling--"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING YOU SON OF A BIT--"

And suddenly my whole body was thrust all at once against the water. Ice all around me; shocking my system within seconds. I felt cold and a startled gasp filled and choked my lungs with air. Blinking in a daze of shock; my dad towering over me. My mom crying into her handkerchief behind him; dressed still in her finest.

"You want to say that to me again. Greg."

The ice was numbing my entire body; everything from head to toe burning as if I was actually touching an oven instead of a tub of ice. Shivering with clothes heavy and wet; my gaze a disoriented mess of panic. There was something wrong here and the worst of it is I didn't know how to deal with it. I was always _so good_ at figuring out these simple things and all the things that could lead up to it. And all I could figure was that dad had somehow managed to find out about that crush I had on Lisa and how I'd crushed on that boy from seventh grade too--or maybe the dumb and dumbest who were outside and while I'd been ditching classes a bunch of kids had beat up little Jimmy who reminded me for some reason of that crippled kid from a Christmas Carol.

My mind raced through all of these before my father brandished my jacket that I'd left on the coat rack when I'd gotten home. Fishing from it the last two cigarettes I'd neglected to smoke during my long walk around the school yard and a lighter alongside it.

I guess you could say my first reaction was blindsided confusion. You have to understand my dad smoked too, even drank. He wasn't a violent drinker or a...violent smoker if there was those. In fact he always seemed to me as a much more violent, terrible and downright disciplined man when he was sober as opposed to drunk---but all the same it led back to my whole being confused aspect of this moment. As he's punishing me for having cigarettes, but as a smoker himself he can't possibly think what the general population does---

"You know what this leads to, son." He brandishes them; eyes focused on mine in a look I know he considers one of concern and love and stern, stern ferocity. I'm shivering so bad that I doubt he can even tell I'm wincing at the proximity of the little sticks. Not answering even while he waits. "I said _do you know what this leads to_."

I shake my head furiously, teeth chattering against any real willpower of my own.

"What was that?"

"N--n-no sir-I. Don't." I'm able to at least spit the words with a _great_ amount of both dislike and disrespect and the man for a moment has that hard, steel like look against his gaze. Lowering his hand while examining me closely.

"You have to work. In order to deserve something like _this_, Greg. You fail all your classes. You get kicked out of school. You dress like that and talk back to me and _disrespect_ the uniform I wear every single day to protect you. Protect your ma--you _know_ what that says? This says _slacker_. Until you get your grades up I don't want to _see_ you with another one of these for as long as you live under this roof. Until you can pull your weight and take on some responsibility, you are forbidden to go anywhere until those grades improve. _Come here."_

I wince while the man grabs my arm and wrenches me from the bath; still fully clothed. The water clings to my skin; burning every part of me while my father brutishly drags me behind him. His grip tight enough so even through the numb feeling of my body and the burning in my mind I still feel the intense pressure. My mother stepping out of the way; whispering as always, "It's for the best..." as if more to convince herself than ever to convince me or dad. ...That's how it always was.

The back door was open; the huge white fence spreading all the way around like three faded looking walls. He drags me outside like a dog on the shortest of leashes, tossing me onto the dirt ground and grabbing a fist full of the ropes left out from the day before. Making sure to tie it tighter but loose enough; barking something about responsibility. And school. And taking on what he had to before he was even fourteen let alone seventeen.

I don't think I really caught most of the last part while my dad stomped off back inside the house. Leaving me wincing in the cold and glaring off into the darkness all around. The cold pressing in with a vengeance; shivering uncontrollably and letting my head fall against the large oak tree that was and probably always would be to some extant; a constant, continuing companion. Like a steel cage, a looming shadow of what I was living in.

I wondered aloud with a slight desperation and far too much anger just what kind of idiot would tie their kid to a tree when they wanted them to go to school the next morning and expected them to actually work through out all of it.

I guessed the men in the wars that my dad had fought had been a lot worse off; and like he constantly liked to point out their commanding officers had taught lessons in much harsher, sterner ways than anything that I had to be taught through. Something which I guessed was supposed to make me feel like one of the lucky ones. One of the ones who was to be taught what no other little kids had the honor to learn.

Inside. Deep inside. Somewhere dark and dank and away from all of this, the night, the burn and ice on my skin. I kind of imagined if I did keep heading in this same direction I might end up at a point where I wasn't hirable, where I really did have no choice but to join the military. And thoughts like this, living like I was and giving up, so much of it looming ahead kept me silent with fear. I never wanted to turn like him. Never wanted this to be who I was. I wanted to get out of this hole, but where would I even start. Being like I am, how I am; with the intelligence and endurance and the deliberate back talk was such a comfort that I wouldn't end up how he did or how he was.

Yet still. Sometimes. And only, only sometimes. That caught me in a slow, dark realization that someday...I'd end up just as he is. That whatever I'd do. I'd be him. And just as he always was.

It's really those times. That I really fear. In the dead of night, awake and alone. Thinking of the thoughts of a boy caught rebelling and hating and fearing the best and worst things that lay in the darkness far above me.


End file.
